


Fuck, I’m going on a date with Malfoy

by phrynne



Series: First Date [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Awkwardness, Boys In Love, Drabble, First Dates, Fluff and Humor, Hermione is always right, Kissing, M/M, Oblivious Harry Potter, POV First Person, POV Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson/Hermione Granger (hinted at), Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 16:25:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phrynne/pseuds/phrynne
Summary: He’s looking at me with those eyes that make me want to fall down on my knees between his legs. I’m a man of action, everyone knows this. I do, then I think. That was how I managed to destroy a Dark Lord and invite Draco Malfoy on a date. I’m still trying to decide which took the most courage, and I’m rather inclined for the latter.





	Fuck, I’m going on a date with Malfoy

‘Oh my god! You just asked him out, didn’t you?’

I can’t even answer her, but it’s clear I don’t have to. She’s Hermione and I’m me, she can read it quite plainly on my face.

I pace her kitchen like I’m on a cage and I focus on turning the wand in my fingers over and over again. Sparks jump from the tip, one hits the wooden table and Hermione automatically points her wand at it, putting the fire out, while I mutter a disgruntled sorry. I’m trying to keep my magic in check.

Except that I can’t. At least not right now.

Tiny problem in my life: I’m in love with Draco Malfoy. Enough said, right?

No. Because I just asked him out on a date and this is definitely the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life. And I’m the type of person that jumps in front of curses on a daily basis. I’d rather take a curse now. Which reminds me… he didn’t hex me on the spot. And that’s weird.

‘Did he say yes?’ Hermione asks, ignoring my pacing and boiling some tea, which she perfectly knows I won’t drink.

I need alcohol. I need her to take me to a fucking pub and I need to drink myself into a coma so I can forget those grey eyes boring into mine, like a winter storm. A storm I so want to lose myself in.

Hermione is still speaking. Apparently my silence gives her all the answers.

‘He did say yes!’ she claps her hand over her mouth, looking beyond happy. ‘I knew it!’

She’s happy because she’s right and I was wrong. One would think she’d get used to the feeling by now. I’m about to throw up or throw something at the wall. I look around me for something to break. I can _Reparo_ it later.

‘Harry, you’re not going to destroy my kitchen again, thank you very much,’ she says, eyeing me amusedly. ‘This is exactly _why_ we convinced you to ask him out in the first place.’

She says ‘we’ but she actually means ‘I’. I’m guessing the ‘I’ doesn’t come easily, their breakup is still recent. Ron pointedly said he wanted nothing to do with this. He’s probably afraid of what I’d do if it went wrong, which it most certainly will.

But he had his part in this too. He was the first to tell it right to my face, never mind if we were both fucking drunk at the time (Hermione had just broken up with him). His exact words were, and I quote: “Bloody hell Harry, you are in love with him, just bloody do something about it or I will”.

I think he was just tired. I’ve been kinda... _intense_ about Malfoy over the years. Talking about him every once in awhile. I mean, we work in the same building, it’s just normal that I mention a co-worker, even if we don’t work together. I mention other co-workers… okay, not really.

Anyway, I just talk about him when it’s relevant. Like when he ignores me. Or says ‘morning’ in that poshy tone of his. I used to hate that, now it makes my knees weak and I have to brace the desk for support, how pathetic is that? Or when he brings me tea. He actually did that once, can you believe that? Malfoy, being nice. To _me_ . Bringing _me_ tea. Just once. Or twice. Then he started doing that a lot. See? _Relevance_.

I think the word Ron used was _torture_. I guess I should just face it: everything that git does is relevant to me. It’s sad, but it’s true and I’m beyond caring at this point. But Ron was drunk (and heartbroken) and there was actually no limit for what he could do at that moment. The idea of him coming up to Malfoy and spill my secrets is my new version of a perfect nightmare, so I took matters in my hand.

Anyway, I was pretty convinced I would get a cold, poshy, pretty straightforward _no_ , to say the least. In fact, I was ready to get one of his perfectly snarky comebacks thrown at my face - the ones that always leave me speechless.

But he said yes, and then he left. Which ended up having the same effect of his comebacks. I just stood there, I couldn’t be reminded of a single word to say and the world just turned on its axis. He seems to do that a lot with my world.

Tomorrow I’m supposed to be on a date with my ex-enemy, turned friend, turned the man of my fucking dreams.

Great. Just brilliant. So why am I not happy? Ah, yes, that’s right.

Because I’m fucking scared out of my mind, that’s why.

‘Seriously, what am I doing?’ I say, and I don’t really expect any answer. ‘Why did you let me do this? Why don’t I ever think things through?’

Hermione sighs. She does not try to serve the tea because we’ve kinda been here before. Many times, actually. Instead, she opens her fridge, grabs two beers and throws me one. I really love Hermione.

‘You did think this through, Harry. Actually, I’ve never seen you think so much about anything in your life,’ she takes a long sip from her bottle. I think I’m finally driving her nuts. ‘Just tell me how it was. You met him and?...’

She’s going to make me relive the humiliation. Fine. I gulp down my beer.

‘I had to repeat the question three fucking times, Hermione. I spent the whole morning rehearsing it in my head, just to get it right, and then I see him and he’s wearing those fucking robes, you know, the ones I told you about... and he lifts a fucking eyebrow at me, like I’m in the way or something. Er… I kinda was.’

Yep, I was, I was blocking his path on the corridor. I was afraid he’d leave without me getting it off my chest. He nearly did.

‘Whatever. I blurted it out just like that, no introduction. I told him about the Muggle italian place and I asked him. On a _date_.’

I don’t tell her that first I spoke so low even _I_ couldn’t hear it. Then I fucking stuttered. I finally got it right on the third try, by which time he was just staring at me like I’m a mental case. And _I am_ a mental case. When he said yes I couldn’t even say anything at all. I just thought I’d heard it wrong. But I didn’t. He said yes two times. His eyes and face said nothing at all. Then he turned and left. I ran here.

Hermione is just shaking her head, like I’m a hopeless case. And I am. I’m a war hero and an Auror and I should have my shit together, but I don’t. I never did. And Draco Malfoy is everything I want and he messes me up.

‘Do you think the restaurant was a bad choice? Maybe it’s not good enough,’ I’ve just finished my beer and I’m assaulting Hermione’s fridge now, looking for another one. She doesn’t even comment.

‘Harry, we ate there, it’s wonderful and you know it. Also, _you_ are good enough. He said _yes_ to a date with _you_ not with the italian menu. Okay?’

‘Right. Brilliant,’ I say, distracted.

I take a long sip of my beer and wish it would make the knot on my insides ease a bit but it doesn’t. The wand turns again in my hand, tiny sparks flying in every direction. I put them out, under Hermione’s silent McGonagall-like stare. I take that as the warning it actually is and set the wand quietly on the table, away from my hands.

The thing is: I don’t think she’s right at all. I know she’s Hermione and I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t right, but there’s always a first, right?

At least we won’t be bothered by reporters. And the place has a nice wine selection, it’s part of why I chose it. Malfoy loves wine, he knows a lot about it. I’m hoping he won’t hate it.

I lean against the counter. He’ll hate it. I’m sure he’ll hate it.

‘He’s so completely out of my league. I’m so going to screw this up.’

I’d take a dragon any day. But get me Malfoy in the room and those fucking grey eyes on me and all my courage that fought battles flies out of the window. Go figure.

‘You’re on the same league, Harry,’ Hermione says lightly and she smiles at me. ‘You also play on the same team, if you know what I mean - and I’m not talking about Quidditch. I’ve already told you-’

‘Don’t. Just don’t.’

I stop her because I know where this is going.

‘Don’t use yours and Parkinson’s damned theory again or I’m going to hex you,’ and just because I can, I add. ‘ _Wandlessly_.’

She just laughs.

‘Really, Harry. How many times do I have to tell you? She’s different now, just like Draco is. That’s why you are completely in love with him, isn’t it?’

Even when she’s the one saying it, it sounds weird. I flinch, my stomach drops, because she’s right.

‘I told you what Pansy thinks about this. And she _knows_ him.’

Right. Parkinson. Malfoy’s best friend. The delusional new friend in Hermione’s life that thinks Draco is head over heels with me. I really love Hermione, but I think Parkinson has got into her head. And probably her pants? None of my business, but I really like that Hermione always looks happier when she comes back from drinks with her.

But Parkinson is probably fucking with me on this one. I know she’s changed and all and she’s not the same teenager that was ready to deliver me wrapped in a bow to Voldemort. But she can’t be serious. Malfoy wouldn’t look at a bloke like me in a million fucking years. He’s everything I’m not. Together, composed, assured, well-dressed, good-looking - I really wish I was better with words, because these do not even begin to cover it.

It’s more like… He walks into a room like he knows where’s he’s going, what he’s going for and how to get it. And I fucking wish he was going for _me_. I’d gladly fall on my knees for him, if he so much as turned those fucking grey eyes on me.

But he never looks at me. I’ve been playing this game with myself that implies looking at him everytime he’s not looking and I specialized in looking away once I think he might glance at me. I think I’ve got it to a point of perfection now. It’s been years.

‘What if he just said yes to fuck with me? And not in a good, _I wish he would way_ , but a bad way, like leaving me there stranded.’

‘Harry, that’s just nonsense. You know he’s not that person anymore.’  

She’s fucking right. Shit. Me and Malfoy, we’re sort of friends now. At least I think we are. He’s so different from before. He’s bright, and he cares and he’s made amends. I’m going to fuck up our friendship. I’m going to say something stupid like _Isortofcantstopthinkingaboutyou_ and _IthinkIminlovewithyou_ because that’s exactly the sort of inconvenient, out of the blue, type of thing I’d say. Because I fucking can’t think straight around him. And he’s gonna give me that pointed look, freeze me to the spot, leave and never speak to me again.

‘I don’t even know how to date,’ I say.

She has to, at least, give me that one. She knows this. I have a slight sense of victory as I watch her brush a hand through her bushy hair and then open the fridge in search of another beer. At least she’s taking this bit seriously. I’ve made a mess dating Cho. And Ginny. And Ted, this one bloke I went out with for some time, with blond hair, and clear blue eyes, who was _not_ Draco Malfoy. It ended badly.

‘But for him you are going to try,’ Hermione says and I can’t help but smile at her.

I’m in way too deep.  I’ve come to accept that this is not just physical. This is not a fling. I actually like him. Like, really _like_ him. More than. I’m completely and stupidly fucking in love with my ex-enemy. Here I thought my life couldn’t get any weirder. I know.

I can’t fuck this up. I can do this. I can give him a great night. I can make him laugh. It’s not easy, he’s particularly resistant to my type of humour but I like a good challenge. And it’s _him_ . He was always a challenge. He’s _the_ challenge.

He said yes. He fucking said yes. I should be happy. I am. I’m beyond myself. _Happy sort of terrified I wish I was fighting a dragon._ And he’s actually like a dragon… a very cute, sexy one. See? Even my sense of humor is shit. Just don’t think about dragons. You can do this. You can take Draco Malfoy out to dinner. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll sort of have fun, have a good time. And maybe, just maybe, you won’t reveal how pathetically in love with him you are, and then maybe, just maybe, he’ll want to do this again.

If I don’t screw this up. I need Hermione.

‘Tell me what to do, Hermione Granger,’ I say, and I’m very, very serious about this. I’m going to do exactly as she says, for a change, no funny business, no crazy ideas, no ideas at all, just go and do what Hermione tells you to do.

She almost spits her beer. Her laugh is very loud in the kitchen.

‘Harry, you are going to be yourself. That’s the best you can do, believe me.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

Be myself. Right. If was being myself I would have already jumped him and been cursed out of my skin. That would be a nice ending for the Boy Who Lived. At least I’d die knowing what he tastes like.

Yeah, I’m in this deep, and it’s _this_ bad. Don’t judge. You don’t know what it’s like to be around him.

‘Harry James Potter, you are going there and you are going to be your sweet, honest, spontaneous self. And it will work,’ she winks at me.

‘If you say so…’ I begin, but then my heart jumps to my throat and I almost choke on the beer. ‘I don’t have anything to wear. Fuck.’

She does not seem taken aback by this fact - that might mean the end of the world if you’re trying to date one named Draco Malfoy.

‘Oh don’t worry. Come see me tomorrow before dinner. Trust me.’

And I do. But this is going to be the biggest mistake of my life.

  
***

I’m pretty convinced that he’s not going to show up when I see him. He’s walking over and my mind just goes completely blank. He looks so fucking stunning, he’s wearing the most thight jeans I’ve ever seen in my life and only he could pull those off, really. The fucking jeans are making me sweat, because I can see his long, perfectly-shaped legs and Merlin if he turns around and I get a view of his arse I’m going to do something stupid. Really stupid.

I force my eyes up, to look at his face, but it’s even worse because he’s smiling at me. Like, really smiling. I’m smiling back. I don’t even know what I say when he gets to the door, where I’m waiting because I was sure he wouldn’t be there and I didn’t want to be the sad stupid man sitting at a table, drinking sad wine, waiting indefinitely for a date that’s not going to show up. But he is here. Against all probability.

I manage to get to the table, even though I don’t remember how. I also don’t remember any of the conversation topics I had compiled in my head since the day before. They were perfect, interesting, intelligent and now they are all _gone_.

He picks up the menu. I don’t even look at mine because I’m dead sure I’m going to chose the first dish my eyes land on. There’s only one thing I want to eat tonight. And it’s not on the italian menu. Shit. See, this is exactly what Hermione means when she tells me to not think with what’s between my legs, but apparently I can’t seem to do that when he’s around.

He’s still looking at the menu, which gives me the perfect time to look at him. Which I do. Shamelessly. And it’s totally worth it. There’s a strand of hair falling over one of his eyes. I so want to lean over and drag it slowly behind his ear. I have to grip the edge of the table to not do so. I try to focus on finding something to say. Wine. Yes.

I ask him what wine he wants. I don’t know much about wine, but I’ve been trying to learn. It has nothing to do with the fact that I noticed Malfoy likes wine. So yes, it has. But I ended up actually enjoying it. He accepts my suggestion and I’m stupidly happy because I was right. He’s really the dry white wine type of man and, god, I wonder how the wine tastes on his lips. Fuck, Harry, don’t go there. Just fucking ask for the wine, yes. That way you can drink, at least.

I call for the waiter. It takes so much effort just to take my eyes away from his teeth nibbling at his lip. Why is everything he does a fucking turn on?

I stutter as I order the wine. Fucking kill me again. What the hell is my problem? Besides the pressing one in my more-than-tight jeans. Bet Hermione did not think about _this_ when she suggested those.

He yanks me of my nightmare reverie with a question.

‘How was your day?’

I laugh out of sheer surprise. He sounds so… earnest. Raw. His eyes are on me, as I search for an answer. I wish I could tell him something super interesting and Auror-like, instead of the truth. The truth being I spent the whole day unable to do much work, obsessing about this moment, stressing over the clothes, repeating to myself what I could say to him - so as to avoid precisely what is happening now.

Me. Not talking. Smiling like an idiot.

Finally, and because I’m the type of person who has no idea what self-preservation is, I go with the fucking truth.

‘Er… I kinda spent the whole day thinking about our date, fretting,’ I laugh and I go even deeper on my grave. ‘And then I got off work and went to beg Hermione to help me decide what to dress.’

Is he blushing? I know I am. And there’s definitely some tinge of red climbing up his face and I can’t breathe. I made him blush. And then he laughs. The laugh puts tiny wrinkles around his eyes and I can’t look away. He’s fucking cute. What is wrong with me?

‘You look really nice,’ he says.

What?! He just paid me a compliment. Like, a real one. I didn’t even knew he did _that_. He thinks I look nice. Mentally, I thank Hermione for being the best friend in the world and making Draco Malfoy, of all people, think I look fucking nice.

I stare at him and the only thing I can think of is that he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen and I’m so completely fucked. Or rather: I totally wish I was.

‘You look gorgeous’ I say, because I clearly have a death wish that cannot be stopped.

Oh well, guess that’s out, then. Fucking understatement of the year.

‘But you always do,’ I add.

I seriously hope this is what Hermione meant with me being myself. If it is, I might be doing a great job.

He is definitely blushing. My face feels on fire. His eyes look so clear and wide. My heart is about to come out of my mouth as I’ve just realised how many different shades of grey there are the fucking world. He takes a sip from his wine and I empty my glass in one go. I’m about to drown.

‘Sorry, I-’ well, that was bloody amazing, Harry. Really explanatory. Why don’t you marvell him with something so interesting you have to say... which is absolutely fucking nothing because you can’t even speak.

‘No, it’s fine. I… actually like it that you think so.’

Say what again? What the hell is going on? For a moment I don’t even know what he means. Then I get it, but I just can’t wrap my head around it. He’s even more beautiful like this, his lips slightly parted, wet from the wine. The sight of him drinking is almost too much. I want to snatch the glass away from him and drink the fucking wine from his lips. Get a grip, Harry.

I’m going to fuck this up in a minute if I keep staring at his mouth, so I search for somewhere else to look at and my eyes fall on his hands, his long fingers, his left hand drumming lightly against the table, his right hand grabbing elegantly at his glass and of course I think of those hands curling around my…

Think with your fucking head, Harry. Merlin help me. I want him in my bed. I want to have  him against a wall. My mind is in the gutter and I don’t have the slightest idea how I’m going to pull it out of there.

That’s when Hermione comes to the rescue. Even the Hermione in my head has great timing. Play to your strengths, she’d said. People usually like my honesty. I have everything to lose, so of course I just go for it.

‘Fuck. I don’t ever know what to say around you.’

Something happens to his face then. He’s frozen in between a smile and a look of intense surprise. I think I left him speechless. My heartbeat is so loud in my ears now.

‘Excuse me, but that’s my line,’ he says, his voice hoarse and slightly out of breath. I laugh nervously, I can’t handle it. Is he joking? He has to be. But… he’s not. He’s not joking. He’s being honest.

He looks straight at me. He has a hint of a smile on his face and I can’t believe he’s smiling _at_ me. What is this strange reality where Draco Malfoy doesn't know what to say around me?

‘I want to go back on what I said before. You also look gorgeous. Granger has great taste.’

 _What the actual fuck._ I think my brain crashes at this point.

We just stare at each other for a moment. Is he flirting? Cause I can’t take this. Why is there a table in between us? I’m not good at this, Hermione, I told you so. I can’t talk to him, he’s too… he’s looking at me with those eyes that make me want to fall down on my knees between his legs. I’m a man of action, everyone knows this. I do, then I think. That was how I managed to destroy a Dark Lord and invite Draco Malfoy on a date. I’m still trying to decide which took the most courage, and I’m rather inclined for the latter.

‘I can’t believe it. You just paid me another compliment, two in a row. Are you even real?’

Inside my mind, the only thing going on is: he thinks I’m gorgeous. I’m about to check myself in St. Mungos.

‘Very much so, Potter. Don’t get used to it, though.’

God, he doesn’t know what that tone does to me, does he? I’m trapped inside my pants. I smile at him.

‘Wouldn’t think of it.’

I’m also not thinking of grabbing him by the collar and take his mouth with mine. No. Not at all.

He laughs, I laugh, he’s saying something and I don’t register the words, just the way his lips move. Fortunately, or unfortunately - at this point I don’t really know - we’re interrupted by the waiter and the food.

Which none of us eat.

I don’t even know how but we’re talking. And I’m actually saying stuff and he’s listening and he does not look bored. I was sure I’d bore him. But his eyes don’t leave me, and he listens, he asks me questions, he _wants_ to know. At some point I think he’s mad at the Dursleys and my heart jolts. What does this mean? I don’t get an answer, but I drown in him. He’s telling me about the Manor. He doesn’t go there anymore. I get this sudden impression that he’s trusting me with something quite private. Maybe we’ve had too much to drink? But no, we’re not drunk. He tells me he avoids speaking to his father. He tells me Lucius is a homophobic prick. Of course he is, I think. I hate him even more now, if possible. Draco is unapologetic. He’s not ashamed of being gay. He’s not going to hide. His eyes are assured and they have fire in them as he tells me this. I’m falling even deeper. I’m fucking in love with him.

And all along I’m having a great night. He’s so funny. He has this cynical sense of humour that just makes me go wow. He knows he’s funny, but what he doesn’t know is... how light he makes me feel. Like the world is not hanging over my shoulders. And this is so new. I’ve never felt like this.

I’m feeling so good and it’s dangerous, because that’s when I tend to fuck things up. I’m heady, I’m light, he’s made me feel happy for hours. And I want this. I want him in my life.

My hand is on the table because I’m trying to be closer to him in some way. Fuck, I want to touch him so badly. I don’t want this to be over. I want to take him home and fuck him on my bed. I want to take him out to dinner again. I want to hold his hand on the street.

It’s a long shot. It’s almost impossible. That’s why I try.

‘Want to get out of here?’

He just nods, suddenly quiet. His eyes are bright and I don’t know what he’s saying yes to. I wish he was saying yes to this fucking feeling that’s going to rip out of my chest. I don’t get what he says next, because my mind is reeling. I’m going full-on into doing-mode. I ask for the paycheck.

He’s going for his wallet, but without even thinking I stop him with my hand. We’re touching. I’m burning. His hand is soft under mine. It shakes a little. Gods, I want him. I can’t think.

‘Let me, please. I invited you.’

I want to pay for dinner, because this was about making him feel good. He’s staring back at me and I have to look away. He agrees.

We’re outside. Draco looks at me and my breath catches on my throat. I’m dying to kiss him. I’m moving closer to him. I’m going to make a mistake. I am.

‘I really liked this.’

‘Me too.’

I’m thinking this is _it_. I even say it out loud.

‘I’m thinking... ‘

But really, I’m not. I’m just feeling. We’re standing too close. His scent is intoxicating. It’s now or never. He’s going to turn, he’s leaving and there goes my chance at him.

‘Is that a good thing?’

 _Fuck._ I laugh. The laugh releases something in me. Draco Malfoy is the man I want. So, call it Gryffindor, call it crazy, call it suicidal, I don’t care. I turn to him and it’s out.

‘I want you, Draco. I’m completely hung up on you.’

My heart is going to fall out of my mouth. I drown in the grey open eyes. I’ve never been so nervous in my whole life. And that’s saying something. I can’t breathe with those eyes on me. But then he does it again. He turns my world upside down.

‘Hung up is what you say when you’re pining for someone who doesn’t want you back,’ he says, his eyes bright, his poshy tone making my fucking body burn and collapse. ‘It’s not what you say when the other person is fucking head over heels with you.’

I can’t even get the words. I can’t get anything except that he has that look. That look in his eyes that tells me he knows what he wants and he’s going to get it. My heart is frantic, he’s moving closer.

I have a fucking second to know what he wants: and it’s me.

And then he kisses me.

I lose it, of course I do. I crash him against the nearest wall and his mouth is open and pliant and soft and I’m kissing Draco Malfoy. I'm falling now, inside his mouth, his taste on my tongue, my hands going down on him. And it’s everything, he takes me a thousand miles away and I’m high on his taste, on his moans, on his hands and I can’t ever get enough of him.

Some part of my mind registers his voice. He’s asking me to Apparate us. He actually sounds a bit bossy and I fucking love it.

My hands drop to his waist, then to his arse and I push him against me, he’s so fucking hard. He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

We’re still eating each other out when I Apparate us.

  
Note to self: I owe Hermione. Big time.

**Author's Note:**

> So... this was my take at Harry's POV. I'd done Draco's before (also in this series). What do you think? It was a bit more difficult for me because I'm much more like Draco, not so much the doing type of person. So, how's my effort? 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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